A LONG Day
by smokiesgirl
Summary: The events of Project Predacon and Chain of Command from Ultra Magnus' POV. Rated K for TF action. Enjoy!


**A/N: This follows the events of 'Project Predacon' and 'Chain of Command' **

**It's up to you if I narrate more episodes, or draw on this for a fanfiction. Enjoy!**

I was standing inside our base, hangar E of a human military base, entering the data of our most recent energon scouting expedition. The three human children were asleep on the human berths referred to as 'couches'. Everyone, excepting Ratchet, Optimus, and myself, were in another hangar, honing their battle skills.

Ratchet was currently attempting to refine the synthetic energon, or Synth-en. Optimus had stepped outside for a moment of peace from his duties as a Prime, and was promptly drawn into a conversation with the other humans located on the base.

I could hear them chattering about our leader's new alt-mode, its advantages and possible weak spots.

"Prime!" That annoying human, Special Agent Fowler, was standing on a walkway, near where the human girl, Miko- Nadakai, was it? - was sleeping. _Was_ sleeping. Now wide awake, the young human jumped up, eyes wide with momentary panic.

"Satellite surveillance has picked up signs of Decepticon activity- one near an oil field in El Paso, the other near the Hebrides bluffs in Scotland." He paused, then added for good measure before returning to his office,

"So don't forget to pack your kilts." Our liaison to the outside world slammed the door behind him, satisfied the conflict would be resolved without his further involvement.

Our soldiers entered the hangar as Special Agent Fowler spoke.

"We must divide our resources," our leader stated. "Ultra Magnus, lead the Wreckers to the bluffs."

"Yes, Optimus," I replied. My mind was whirling. I had to lead the Wreckers yet _again_?

I looked over to the mechs in question, Wheeljack and Bulkhead. I knew I would have no trouble with Bulkhead. The short time I had in command of him, two days in fact, it was quite evident he was a rule-follower, a mech pleaser. Wheeljack, however, was a different matter entirely. He and I both knew the reason he had left the Wreckers- deserted, in fact. But did Optimus know? Probably not, judging from the fact he had put the three of us together.

"Uh…" I approached Optimus, mentally reproaching myself for my unconfident vocalization. I looked off to the side, somewhat ashamed of myself for the- in my mind, insubordinate- request I was about to make of our leader.

I intended to ask him if Wheeljack could remain behind, or if he could assume command of the Wreckers. Just before I uttered the request, I was suddenly struck with how un-mechly I was being. I had been about, as the humans aptly but ingraciously put it, to 'chicken out.' Instead, I altered my inquiry at the last possible nano-klick.

"What's a 'kilt'?"

Optimus looked over to Agent Fowler's office. His head remained facing that direction, though his eyes flicked back to my face, and he leaned closer.

"Agent Fowler can, at times, be oblique. I find it best to simply nod and mobilize."

With a nod, I moved back to my assigned command.

"Bulkhead, Wheeljack, let's roll." I could hear Wheeljack's sigh, halfway between a groan and a huff. Ignoring it for a time, I moved toward the hangar door, debating in my processor whether it would be best to implement the ground bridge, or my ship. I decided upon the latter, as we would thus have greater resources for battling the Predacon, should we encounter the beast.

As I continued my way to my ship, I paused before the Forge of Solus Prime, now depleted of its power. I turned to Optimus.

"I know there are many emotions tied to the Forge."

The Prime looked to the Forge, then to me.

"This is no time to stand on ceremony."

I felt a slight smile pushing its way onto my faceplates. I sternly quelled the urge, and instead picked up the Forge, its heavy weight almost as nothing to me, its weight better fitting it as a weapon of war. I had always been stronger than most mechs, and I had learned to temper my strength.

"I would be honored to put this to some practical use."

~ About an hour later ~

I piloted my ship to the ground, now in the territory known as Scotland. The rocky turf was virtually studded with cliffs, bluffs, and caves. The journey to our current location had been tense.

Wheeljack had been just one step shy of complete insubordination, and Bulkhead was left in the role of peacemaker, which role Wheeljack appeared to resent him for assuming.

I was left feeling almost sorry for Bulkhead, who was, as the humans would say, 'stuck between a rock and a hard place.' I did not show my annoyance towards Wheeljack, or my sympathy to Bulkhead, however. Over countless millennia, I had learned to control and disguise my emotions.

As we exited the ship, I was forced to repress the urge to sigh in relief, no longer in close quarters with Wheeljack… or that clumsy, oversized Bulkhead.

I began to briefly inform the two Wreckers of our location and the procedure we would follow.

"All right, Beast Hunters. According to our intel, the Decepticons should be excavating for Predacon bones directly beneath us." Even as I spoke, Wheeljack was paying me no attention, looking about for, presumably, Decepticons to maul, which was one of his favorite activities, or Predacon bones lying aimlessly about, which was illogical and simply preposterous.

"On it, Chief."

Again, I repressed the urge to groan. Chief. If Wheeljack absolutely _had_ to address me by any title _other_ than 'Sir', even 'Shoulder pads' would have been preferable to _Chief_.

Speaking of Wheeljack, the close to insubordinate mech ran forward a short distance, glanced from one side to another, and ran on.

I looked to Bulkhead, wondering privately if he had the answer to my question.

"Does Wheeljack not comprehend the chain of command? I didn't authorize him to advance without proper cover."

I was venting more than asking, but Bulkhead seemed to feel it necessary to reply.

"I'm sure Jackie's just trying to prove himself, now that you and he are serving together again, Sir."

We both turned to where Wheeljack was approaching the edge of a nearby bluff.

"Yee-ha!" He jumped the last few yards, landing on the rocky cliffside. I narrowed my optics, pressing my lips tightly closed. This would be a very long, _very_ taxing day.

Bulkhead rushed ahead of me, in his desire to convince Wheeljack of at least acting with respect. As the two mechs scrambled down the side of the bluff, I approached, circling somewhat to provide cover, if needed.

As I moved into my position, I could hear the two Wreckers conversing, Bulkhead's deep voice predominant.

"Jackie! Wait up! Ultra Magnus wants us to-"

Wheeljack's voice cut in, clearly aggressive. "Blah-blah-blah." It was his trademark- other than his one-grenade, one-shot policy. He always cut in with that rude, annoying expression of contempt. Especially when faced with the truth. Especially when it hurt.

Bulkhead butted into his pal's refusal to listen with a put-down of his own.

"Shh!" He gestured downward, toward a vehicon sentry who had just exited the mine.

I looked over to my right, toward my assigned command, and allowed the sigh to escape. Shaking my helm, I transformed my left servo into a double-barreled ion blaster.

Wheeljack glanced up at Bulkhead, the cocky smirk tugging at his lips visible from my position.

"Wrecker fact #17?"

I forced back the repetitive sigh. Wrecker facts. There were close to a thousand, and the list grew with every battle. How the two Wreckers kept up with them all was a mystery to me.

Bulkhead replied. "Guards never look up."

At that moment, Bulkhead's grip slipped, and the displaced rocks tumbled down, to land at the vehicon sentry's peds. Contrary to Wrecker fact #17, the guard looked up, just in time to see Wheeljack plummet down at him, katanas first.

As the sentry's head rolled to the ground, the body following, Wheeljack landed in a kneeling position, katanas back, head down. Rising to his feet, the warrior turned, glancing up to Bulkhead, then to me.

To my left, Bulkhead chuckled, then looked to me, anxious of my opinion on the results.

Wheeljack drew himself to attention, left hand and katana pointed down, right katana saluting, the hiss of the blade audible.

Before I could react, the clanking of peds drew our attention to the mine. Six vehicon troopers were exiting in perfect step, the perfect soldiers. For a moment, I felt almost envious of Megatron, his army of obedient soldiers, without a thought of rebellion or insubordination. My better judgment took over, and I was again our Prime's loyal second in command.

"Scrap." Wheeljack's expression, similar to the human variant, 'crap', or 'dang' , described the situation perfectly. He was certainly in a scrap-heap of trouble. The vehicons opened fire, and Wheeljack rushed forward, deflecting blaster shots with his katanas.

Reaching the first attacker, he whirled and brought his ped against the trooper's chassis, pushing up and out. The unlucky trooper flew up, only to meet with Bulkhead's wrecking balls as the over-sized warrior plunged down to assist his friend. His thick armor easily deflecting blaster shots, Bulkhead continued to pound the 'Cons with Wheeljack.

As the remaining three troopers opened fire on the two reckless Wreckers, I in turn opened fire. My shots peppered the ground around their peds. My purposefully bad aim was not to kill or maim, but to distract.

As the troopers glanced up, I jumped from my position to another ledge slightly farther down. I moved to another ledge, still firing, and transformed my blaster back to a servo. Reaching back with my left hand, I grabbed the Forge, now my war-hammer.

As I began to bring it over my head for a powerful strike, I reached back and up with my right hand as well, gripping the Forge tighter.

I could feel Wheeljack and Bulkhead's gazes on me as I proved to them I was as capable a warrior as a leader.

Instead of landing a blow on just one vehicon, I struck directly between two troopers, flinging them away with the impact. Both flew to the side, with one major difference. One tumbled several hundred yards, stunned, while the other was flung straight into Bulkhead's wrecking ball.

The stunned trooper recovered sufficiently to charge me from behind. I did not turn to face my enemy head on; I merely rammed the handle of the Forge into his chassis. I whirled, slamming the Forge onto the troopers back, driving him face first into the ground.

A few more strikes from my Wreckers, and the short conflict was over.

I stood to my full height and returned the Forge to its holder across my back.

"And that is why we wait for cover."


End file.
